


Friendly Slaps

by platonic_boner



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crushes, Fluff, M/M, Manhandling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 06:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5617567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platonic_boner/pseuds/platonic_boner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin figures out why Arthur manhandles him so much. Arthur himself is a little slower on the uptake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendly Slaps

It's one thing, Merlin thinks, to throw plates and candles and various other heavy objects at your servant. It's almost acceptable, especially when it's someone as good at dodging as Merlin is. But it's entirely another to - to _manhandle_ your servant like Arthur does him. Merlin realizes he gave up all his free time when he became Arthur's manservant. He just doesn't think he should have to give up his dignity as well.

"Merlin," Arthur calls from the training grounds. "Come here."

Merlin sighs, but he supposes whatever Arthur wants him to do can't be worse than mucking out the stables, which is where he was headed. (He supposes wrong.)

Arthur and Percival are training a few hopeful knights of Camelot. Merlin recognizes a few of them.

"Now, if a man gets your sword away from you," Arthur is saying, "there are a couple things you can do to get it back. I'm going to demonstrate on Merlin here, because Percival's a little large for a few of these."

The knight hopefuls laugh. Percival smirks at Merlin, who sticks his tongue out in return.

Arthur hands his blunt practice sword over to Merlin, saying, "We won't demonstrate the part where Merlin disarms me, because we'd be here all day if we waited for him to manage that."

More laughs, including Percival's loud boom. Merlin scowls; Arthur grins.

"Just come and attack me," Arthur says. "Try to cut my head off."

"With pleasure, _sire_ ,” Merlin says, and leaps for him.

He has absolutely no idea how Arthur does it, but the next thing he knows, he's tight in Arthur's arms, his back against Arthur's chest, and his own sword pressed against his throat.

"Did you all see how I did that?" Arthur asks, to a general consensus of yes's. "Now, that can only be done if your opponent is completely unskilled like Merlin here-" here, he ruffles Merlin’s hair "-so I'll demonstrate a few other tactics."

Most of Arthur's tactics end with Merlin in the dirt and Arthur holding Merlin's sword. A few demonstrations later, Merlin is bruised and battered and he hasn't landed a single blow. He stays lying on the ground on his back as Arthur instructs his potential knights to practice.

Once they all start attacking each other, Arthur offers a hand up to Merlin. Merlin glares at him, but takes it, because he remembers his commitment to dignity and he supposes lying on his back in the practice grounds at Arthur's feet really isn't demonstrating any.

Arthur dusts him off with a few quick brushes. "All right there?" he asks.

"...Yes," Merlin says grudgingly.

Arthur pats his shoulder heartily. "Your method of running away screaming works too," he says consolingly.

 

****

 

It’s only a few days later that Arthur shoves Merlin into the mud.

They’re on their way to the market, Arthur wanting to buy some sweets. Merlin maybe made too many cracks about Arthur’s weight on the way there.

“Are you sure about that, sire?” he’d said, when Arthur told him what their objective was.

(Apparently one is too many.)

Arthur shoves him. Merlin trips over his own feet and goes sprawling headlong into a mud puddle. He raises his head, slowly, and glares at Arthur until muddy water starts dripping into his eyes.  
Arthur drags him to the well, where he pulls up a bucket of water and dumps it over Merlin’s head to clean him off. Then he leaves Merlin at the edge of the market, says, “Stay,” and heads off.

As Merlin dries, he watches two children of around eight years old. The boy is pulling on the girl’s dress and her braids and teasing her. He’s clearly trying to get his crush’s attention but going about it in the completely wrong way. She’s ignoring him entirely. He eventually shoves her, and she falls in the mud. An older child, the boy’s sister from the looks of it, storms over and makes him apologize and then drags him away by the ear.

_Too bad Arthur never had anyone drag him away by the ear_ , Merlin thinks.

And then, _wait._

Arthur teases him, messes up his hair, and shoves him into mud puddles.

In other words, Arthur treats him almost _exactly_ like that boy with a crush.

“No.” Merlin actually says it aloud. “That’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous, _Mer_ lin?” Arthur drawls from behind him, and laughs in delight when Merlin jumps half a foot in the air.

“Other than your ears,” Arthur adds, tugging one of them. Merlin would normally have a hilarious retort, but right now he’s a little busy trying to fight the blush creeping up over his face.

_Arthur totally has a crush on him._

“Come on,” Arthur says, throwing an arm over Merlin’s shoulders and starting to pull him towards the castle. “You’ve got work to do.”

 

****

 

The next morning, Merlin steals a piece of bacon off of Arthur's breakfast plate as he turns to leave. Most mornings, Arthur is sleepy and too trustful of Merlin to be alert yet, but today, for whatever reason, he's much more on his game.

"What was that?"

Merlin quickly shoves the bacon down his shirt. He can feel it leaving a trail of grease as it slides down his stomach, only stopping when it reaches where his shirt is tucked into his pants. Oh well - it will still taste the same. He turns around to face Arthur.

"What?" he asks, as innocently as possible.

Arthur is not fooled. He gets out of bed and stalks towards his breakfast, never breaking eye contact. He picks up the plate and finally takes his piercing stare away from Merlin to examines the food.

"I think something's _missing_ ,” he says.

Merlin raises his eyebrows. "Shall I talk to the cook, sire?"

The plate clatters threateningly when Arthur sets it down. "I don't think it's the cook," Arthur says.

"The kitchen maids, perhaps," Merlin suggests weakly.

He's barely started to run when Arthur pounces, slamming them both into the hard wall. Arthur's arms around Merlin absorb most of the impact, but now Merlin is caught between two equally sturdy and impassible boundaries - the stone wall, and Arthur's body.

Arthur's got him pinned face-first, and when he whispers in Merlin's ear, he does it with such threatening softness that his lips have to be close enough to brush Merlin's skin as he speaks. "I think it was _you_ ,” Arthur says.

"Me? I wouldn't dream of it, sire!" Merlin squeaks, as Arthur starts to frisk him.

Arthur's hands run briskly down his back, then up his arms. Not finding anything he grabs Merlin by the shoulders, quickly flips him around, and shoves his back up against the wall.

“Really?” Arthur asks, as he tilts Merlin’s face up and forces his mouth open. Merlin struggles, trying to free himself, but Arthur is far stronger and is using one hip to pin Merlin to the wall while he holds Merlin’s face still. Merlin can do nothing but allow the prince to peer into his mouth and make sure Merlin hasn’t already eaten his bacon.

Satisfied, Arthur lets Merlin’s face go. Merlin is now looking into Arthur's (very close-up) face. "Honestly," he says, high-pitched, as Arthur continues his search, large hands skimming down Merlin's chest. "I'd never-"

He shuts up because Arthur's found the piece of bacon, pressed against Merlin's belly. He holds Merlin still and stares straight into his eyes as he untucks a corner of Merlin’s shirt, reaches in, and grabs the bacon.

"This got here by accident, then, I suppose," Arthur drawls.

"Yes, exactly!" Merlin says. "I've never seen it before in my life."

Arthur holds the piece of bacon up between them so they can both contemplate it for a moment.

"Well then," he says eventually, "I suppose you won't mind if I do _this_.” He pops the entire piece of bacon into his mouth.

Merlin glares at him as he makes loud moans of enjoyment around his chewing. Arthur finally swallows. "Mmm," he says. "Delicious."

Then, finally, he stops leaning on Merlin. "Why are you still here, anyways?" he asks.

Merlin flees.

Dignity aside, Merlin has always rather enjoyed Arthur’s manhandling. It’s sort of adorable, after all. That is, Arthur doesn’t seem to know how to do affection the way normal people do. He refuses to hug Merlin, which is clearly ridiculous, but apparently that rule doesn’t count if Arthur can come up with some pretext, however shaky, for putting his arms around Merlin and holding him close.

But in light of Merlin’s recent realization that Arthur has a crush on him, he’s been thinking more about it, and, well...

Merlin maybe has a crush on Arthur too?

 

****

 

Merlin doesn’t mind that horseplay, or whatever you want to call it, is how Arthur likes to show his _special affections_ , because Arthur’s careful. He doesn’t really hit Merlin, never hurts him - well, their first few meetings excepted. Knowing he’s safe and will never come to harm at Arthur’s hands leaves Merlin free to enjoy being manhandled and teased by the prince.

Except, yesterday Merlin pulled a muscle in his shoulder, and now it’s making the way Arthur’s holding his arm behind his back agonizing. Arthur’s teasing him, because Merlin’s back is towards Arthur and so Arthur can’t see Merlin’s face contort with pain.

Merlin doesn’t respond to whatever Arthur’s teasing was, in too much pain to listen let alone reply. Instead he lets out a little whimper of pain.

“Merlin?” Arthur says, sounding horrified. He releases Merlin’s arm immediately, turns him around. Merlin rubs his shoulder with his good hand, gasping as it throbs.

“I didn’t mean-” Arthur starts, looking devastated. “I wouldn’t - I didn’t know you were hurt -”

“I’m all right,” Merlin lies, to stop Arthur from looking so horrified.

“No, you’re not, you simpleton,” Arthur says. He’s somehow taken over the job of rubbing Merlin’s shoulder, his strong hands gentle. It leaves Merlin’s hands free to brush the tears off his cheeks.

“Come on, let’s get you to Gaius,” Arthur says.

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s just a pulled muscle,” Merlin argues.

“Yes, yes,” Arthur says, pulling Merlin along, very gently, by his uninjured arm. “Nothing at all is the matter with you.”

Arthur hovers as Gaius confirms that it will heal on its own. At Arthur’s insistence, he gives Merlin a salve to rub onto the shoulder. At least, he tries to give it to Merlin - Arthur snatches it up as clearly, Merlin can’t be permitted to tend to his own injury.

“No roughhousing and it should be good as new within a week,” Gaius promises Arthur. Gaius doesn’t know the full story of why they’re here, so he thinks this is reassuring.

Arthur flinches.

It takes almost a fortnight of letting Arthur rub Gaius’ salve onto Merlin’s shoulder every morning and night before Arthur so much as puts Merlin in a headlock. It completely takes the fun out of baiting Arthur when every time Arthur starts toward him, a flash of regret crosses his face and he freezes, and instead of getting shoved, Merlin ends up feeling strangely disappointed.

It makes Merlin feel warm inside when he thinks about how Arthur treats him - so much differently than he would a knight he’d hit, or even another servant he’d knocked into. It’s evidence that not only does Arthur have a crush on him, he truly cares about Merlin, too. But Merlin still misses the prince’s most childish ways of showing his affection.

When Merlin finally manages to goad Arthur into tackling him, it’s the gentlest press of arms Merlin has ever felt from the prince. He’s positive, too, that if he tried to push Arthur away, Arthur would let go instantly. Instead Merlin mocks him again, clearly baiting.

Arthur’s hold tightens, and Merlin grins as he squirms.

 

***

 

Of course, even if Arthur _does_ like Merlin, that doesn’t stop him from being an enormous prat. (Merlin doubts anything could achieve that.) It’s not long before Arthur shirks his duties again and Uther puts Merlin in the stocks for his horrible excuses. He’d think that meant no manhandling from Arthur, but Arthur comes back early, and of course immediately goes to the stocks to mock Merlin.

Merlin knows Arthur has the keys, so it’s even more aggravating to see Arthur’s grinning face peering down at him.

“My, my, whatever did you do?” Arthur teases.

“Just let me out!” Merlin says.

“Is that how you ask your prince for a favour?” Arthur chides.

Merlin glares, but keeps his mouth stubbornly shut. Arthur got him in this mess, and he’ll stand in the stocks for the extra hour before he’s set to be released if the other option is being polite to Arthur right now.

Arthur relents, though, and fishes the keys out from around his neck. The keyhole is on the same side of the stocks as Merlin is standing, so Arthur crowds into his space in order to release him.

Merlin hears the key go into the lock. He’s already sighing in anticipation of the relief he’s about to experience - his back is _killing_ him - when he realizes Arthur hasn’t actually turned the key.

Instead, Arthur’s decided to examine a hole in the side of Merlin’s shirt - Merlin can’t see him, but he can feel Arthur’s fingers tugging at the fraying cloth. Admittedly, it’s been growing for nearly a month now, and it’s gotten to be about the size of Merlin’s fist. But on the other hand, Arthur’s never had to mend his own clothes, so he shouldn’t be allowed to talk.

“You really ought to mend this,” Arthur says, brushing his fingers along it. “You never know when someone will take advantage.”

Before Merlin can ask what that means, Arthur’s stuck his hand through the hole and started tickling Merlin’s ribs.

Startled, Merlin tries to buck away, but Arthur’s other hand grips Merlin’s hip tightly and refuses to allow him to escape. Not that Merlin could go far anyways, with his neck and wrists still trapped in the stocks.

“Arthur,” he whines, through giggles, as Arthur tickles his ribs and side and belly. He wriggles and squirms, but trapped as he is, it’s absolutely useless.

“Want to reconsider begging for my mercy?” Arthur asks evilly.

Merlin honestly doesn’t know if Arthur would stand there and tickle him for the next hour, but he’s not ruling out the possibility and he doesn’t think he could bear it. “Please,” he mumbles, face red.

“Please what?”

Merlin _knows_ that “Please don’t be a prat,” is the wrong answer, but. Sometimes he speaks before he thinks. Sometimes Arthur is just _too irritating_ to bear.

Several minutes of tickling later, when Merlin can barely breathe, Arthur offers, “Want to try again?”

Merlin takes several gasping breaths before he says pitifully, “Please let me out, Arthur.”

“Was that so hard?” Arthur quickly unlocks the stocks and lifts them off of Merlin, who stumbles out. Merlin’s neck and shoulders ache, after so many hours at that awkward angle, and he rolls his head side to side, bones crackling. He dodges when Arthur reaches for him, suspicious, but Arthur rolls his eyes and grabs him. His hand squeezes the back of Merlin’s neck firmly, practically massaging. Merlin’s still flushed from the tickling, but he lets Arthur help, leaning into his touch.

 

****

 

Merlin wakes up on a hunting trip (just him and Arthur) with Arthur entirely on top of him. His nose is buried in Arthur's armpit and he takes a second to consider just how disturbing it is, that he knows it's Arthur pinning him down from that scent alone. Courtesy of years of doing Arthur's laundry and being put in his headlocks, no doubt.

Arthur is completely still above him, so much so that Merlin concludes he must still be asleep. Good. Now Merlin just has to figure out how to get out from underneath this huge warrior before Arthur wakes and decides it's all Merlin's fault. (Merlin is pretty sure it isn't. Yes, he did cuddle sort of close to Arthur, but that's because it was so windy that their fire had to be tucked into a corner of a huge rock, meaning there was only room for one of them right next to it, and guess who got that spot? So of course, Merlin was shivering, and as soon as he was sure Arthur was out, he'd maybe snuggled in a bit. But, definitely not _this_ close. Even he knew Arthur would kill him for that.) Anyways, blame isn't important - getting Arthur off is. Er. You know what Merlin means.

But as soon as Merlin starts wriggling his way out from under Arthur, the prince starts holding him down even more heavily. His thigh traps both of Merlin's legs, and he smashes Merlin's moving hands back against the forest floor. Merlin's chest is being nearly crushed underneath the prince's weight, and he opens his mouth to complain _vociferously_.

Instantly, Arthur's free hand - that is, the one that isn't pinning Merlin's wrists down - covers his mouth. Merlin tries to thrash about to communicate his displeasure, but he literally cannot move an inch. He settles for glowering.

Arthur slowly lowers his head, bringing his lips to Merlin's ear. "Bandit party," he breathes. His breath tickles Merlin's ear, who squirms involuntarily. "That means _don't move_ , idiot," Arthur hisses.

Now that Merlin is thinking about something other than Arthur's body (uh...you _know_ what Merlin means!), he can hear the bandits faintly. He can't see a damn thing, of course - now Arthur is confident he'll stay still, he's relaxed a little, which means Merlin's face is back in his armpit. Merlin supposes from the fact that Arthur doesn't want to fight them that they're a large group - at least a dozen, probably. The fact that Arthur still hasn't moved off him says the bandits are quite close and would notice any movement. (Or that Arthur genuinely thinks Merlin's an idiot, but Merlin would like to ignore that possibility.)

It's at least ten minutes before Merlin hears the bandits ride out. (He spends the time trying to remember how Gaius treats broken ribs, because Merlin is pretty sure Arthur is absolutely crushing his ribcage.) Even when they sound gone, Arthur stays in position for another whole minute - Merlin counts the seconds. Halfway in, he starts to wriggle out of protest, trying to squirm back control of his arms and nipping at the hand over his mouth.

That's what finally makes Arthur let go. "Merlin, you idiot!" he says, finally rolling off and sitting up. "What part of 'bandits' don't you understand?"

"I understand it perfectly well," Merlin retorts. "In fact, next time I'd appreciate it if you could start by telling me about them, instead of lying on top of me and breaking my ribs!"

Arthur reaches down and starts non-too-gently checking Merlin's ribs. Over Merlin's soft yelps, he says, "Maybe next time I'll do that, _if_ you don't draw the bandits right to us by making so much noise in your sleep the whole kingdom hears you! And _if_ you can be woken up like a normal person!" He squeezes Merlin's side particularly hard as emphasis. "Your ribs are fine."

"Not anymore, they aren't," Merlin mutters, quickly sitting and bringing his arms up to protect his sides.

"Speaking of next times," Arthur continues, "How about next time we're surrounded by bandits, you don't try to flail around and punch me when I try to stop you from attracting their attention?"

"Well, I didn't realize there were bandits, did I?" Merlin argues, red-faced.

"What, you just thought I was cuddling you for the fun of it?" Arthur snorts. "You know, I don't actually enjoy touching you, Merlin."

Merlin can't help the bark of laughter that escapes at that claim.

"What?" Arthur demands. He shakes Merlin. " _What?_ "

"Nothing, Sire," Merlin demures. "I'm sure you _loathe_ laying hands on my filthy peasant body."

Merlin looks, pointedly, at the hand on his shoulder that Arthur had just used to shake him. It's now sitting there, warm and comfortingly firm. Arthur follows his gaze and wrenches it back. This doesn't change the fact that Arthur's concept of personal space is laughable when it comes to Merlin recently, and the two of them are very close.

"I-" Arthur pauses, looks red and uncomfortable, restarts, "Look, it's my right as - that is - "

Merlin had felt foolish for how long it had taken him to notice that Arthur touches him more often that he does anyone else. He's never imagined that Arthur hadn't come to the same realization. But, if Arthur's stammering now is any clue, he never had. And Merlin is willing to bet that his touching is a subconscious reaction to feelings and desires that Arthur is only now realizing he harbours.

Merlin decides to let him off the hook.

"It's all right, sire," he says, patting Arthur's knee comfortingly. "I'm a great cuddler. I do think you'd enjoy cuddling me, but I don't think any worse of you for it."

Arthur lets out a relieved laugh and says, "I thought I told you, you can't talk to me that way?"

It's still a little awkward - mainly because they are both aware that Arthur would usually leap on Merlin for such a comment, and wrestle him into submission. But it breaks the tension enough for them to pack up camp and head back to Camelot, Arthur’s hunt cut short in favour of returning with a larger force to clear out the bandits.

A few hours into the ride, Arthur begins clearing his throat every few minutes. An extremely aggravating half hour later, he finally speaks.

"Look, Merlin," he says, "Our conversation this morning brought it to my attention that I perhaps, uh, manhandle you more than one ought to manhandle a servant. I want you to know, if it makes you uncomfortable-"

"This _conversation_ makes me uncomfortable," Merlin retorts, his ears bright red.

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur returns. "As I was saying, you needn't endure-"

Merlin brings his horse around to stop in front of Arthur's, so he can look Arthur in the face and have this discussion without having to divide his attention between Arthur and controlling the horse.

"Arthur. It hasn't even slightly escaped my attention that you manhandle me far more than necessary," he says. "And if it makes _you_ uncomfortable that it doesn't bother me in the slightest, well, that would be weird, but feel free to dismiss me or whatever."

Arthur gapes at him. "You don't mind?"

"What's the opposite of minding?" Merlin says. "Because - that. I do that."

"But I'm treating you inappropriately!" Arthur argues. "I'm taking advantage. I'm-"

"Yes, probably," Merlin agrees, grinning to show how much he does _not_ mind. "So?”

Merlin turns his horse back towards Camelot as Arthur tries to figure out how to reply.

Several miles later, Arthur clears his throat again. "Look, Merlin, I know you don't have much experience in this area and I want to explain this to you simply. I'm not treating you as a servant, or a friend, or even like a brother, all right? Look, some men enjoy the company of other men like a man might enjoy the company of his wife, do you see what I'm saying?"

"Oh goodness me!" Merlin gasps. "Are you implying you want to take my virtue? You evil scallywag! You soulless whelp!" He presses his hand to his chest and pretends to faint, which he promptly ruins by opening one eye and stating, "This is me fainting."

"I got that," Arthur says dryly.

"Good," Merlin replies. "Did you also get that you're welcome to take my virtue whenever you like?"

"I don't want you to feel pressured, or, or obligated, because I'm the prince," Arthur says earnestly. "I don't want you if you don't want _me_ , Merlin, all right?"

"Oh, that is absolutely not a problem," Merlin says.

Arthur turns to look at him like he can judge Merlin's sincerity from his face. Maybe he can, because he then gives Merlin a sort of soft, sweet smile that Merlin isn't sure he's ever seen before.

A few minutes later, Arthur asks, "Have you really still got your virtue?"

Merlin replies, "Hopefully not for long.”


End file.
